In the tradition of Fyodor Dostoevski’s Notes from the Underground, George Orwell's work offers a hybrid of true memoir and reportage, weaving the tapestry of poverty through the eyes of a participant. Like Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer, Orwell's narrative is imbued with the authenticity of personal involvement, as he immerses himself into the lives of the poor. This relinquishment of educational and class privileges allows him to paint a vivid picture of the struggles faced by those at the margins of society.

Orwell's exploration of poverty emerges from a desire to escape the confines of a "respectable world," a sentiment he candidly shares in The Road to Wigan Pier. “I knew nothing about working-class conditions,” Orwell admits, underscoring his quest to disentangle himself from societal norms. This pursuit, fueled by an intricate web of masochistic guilt, births a narrative pulsating with fervor. Orwell brings to his work a duality—combining the visionary insight of a prophet with the keen observations of a novelist.

Despite its raw authenticity, Down and Out in Paris and London is not an unfiltered account of Orwell's experiences. In The Road to Wigan Pier, he acknowledges that "nearly all the incidents described… actually happened, though they have been rearranged." His portrayal of life in Paris condenses eighteen months into just ten weeks, omitting influential figures such as his "Aunt Nellie" and Eugene Adam. Similarly, the London episodes are said to be selectively curated, with critics like Bernard Crick suggesting that certain parts, such as the role of "B" in his departure from Paris, may have been embellished for narrative effect.

Orwell's depiction, although selectively curated, retains a profound sense of sincerity and openness. When juxtaposed against Jack London's The People of the Abyss, which conveys the grim life of the East End with raw emotion, Orwell's account feels measured and composed. Rather than letting grief and anger dominate his prose, Orwell channels his emotions into the structure of his story, allowing the narrative's inherent power to convey the urgency for social change. This restraint, while maintaining a compelling narrative, subtly shifts the focus from personal anguish to a broader social commentary.